Van Helsinki: Wasting
by nototter
Summary: Van Helsinki, ex-cop, gets his first call from the Inspector.
1. Chapter 1

When the phone rang, Van started, irrationally angry. Who exactly wanted to call him? He fumbled over for the phone, missed, slid off the bed, and then grabbed hold of his mobile from the floor. Van lifted it to his ear. The voice on the end was familiar, even through the medications and other…substances clouding his head. Van coughed once. It was the Inspector.

"Van?...Van? Are you there?" Van coughed again.

"I'm here. I'm always here. Where did you think I'd-" The Inspector interrupted.

"Not now. Listen…I know you're angry…I need to meet you. That café, just down from where you live? How is that? Ten minutes?" There was a click as the Inspector hung up. Van growled. The combinations of the stuff he was taking had temporarily wrecked his motor functions, but he felt it was a point of pride to show up, even if they had fired him, had sent him away for trying to do his job. It took five minutes for Van to haul himself up, get himself dressed, and spray on enough deodorant to vaguely mask the distinctive smells he gave off. Then he set off. He still made it on time.


	2. Chapter 2

What exactly had he agreed to, Van wondered as he moved through the barn. The Inspector had said something about mysterious goings on. And who else to call but Van? The ex-detective muttered to himself. He still wasn't sober, and he didn't feel sober either. Even in his current state, he couldn't help but notice the smell. Only people gave off that smell. Dead ones. Van moved closer down the barn. There was a click from outside the barn. Van reached inside his coat for a pistol, as the door at the other end of the barn burst open and a grubby man holding a machete burst in. He charged at Van. Van pulled his Beretta out, and opened fire on the man one-handed, clipping him with enough shots to knock him over. Van staggered over to where the man lay, and finished him off with the last of the clip. He dropped the pistol, and, hearing movement outside, emptied his revolver into the wooden walls of the barn where the sound came from. There was a scream, then silence. Van dropped the Uberti revolver, and reached into both coat pockets. The already open doorway, where the machete wielder had come from, was suddenly blocked by four more men, all armed with various blunt implements. They didn't look friendly. Van's right pocket was empty, but his left one had his Raffica pistol inside. Van drew that forth, and opened fire, shredding two men and much of the wall next to them. One of the survivors ducked back outside the door, but the other saw Van drop the pistol and moved forwards. He got within a few feet of the staggering detective before Van put a few .45 rounds into his head from his Colt. Van paused for a moment, trying to steady his head. The adrenaline was playing havoc with his head, and he dropped his M1911 to clutch at it, with both hands. That was when the doors at the other end of the barn burst open. Van didn't have time to turn before the man who had ducked out of the barn earlier pulled the left trigger on the shotgun. Van heard a roar from the barrel, and felt his right side light up and his body spin. The earth rumbled up to meet him./p


	3. Chapter 3

His entire right side was in agony. Van suspected he would not have been able to move if not for the combination of meds and other illicit substances he was on. As it was, they dampened the pain, allowing him to react. He could hear the man with the shotgun moving closer. There was a crack as one of the boards of the barn, badly weakened by Van's errant shots into it, broke off and fell to the ground with a clatter. The man turned, and let fly with another shotgun blast at the wall, shredding the wooden boards. Then Van heard the snap of a break-action, and the faint plinks of the shells hitting the floor. So a double-barrel. This was Van's chance. Van pulled himself to his feet. The man didn't notice immediately, being preoccupied with reloading his shotgun. He hadn't managed to get both shells in by the time Van was up. Van took a step forward, and the man looked up, instinctively pulling up the shotgun. Van, working off little but a combination of pain and a desire to not have to suffer more of it, lunged forward, and grabbed the barrel. It burned his hand a little, but he hardly noticed under the sheer amount of agony he was feeling. The man on the other end sought to manoeuvre the half-loaded shotgun round to point into Van's chest, but the ex-detective pushed hard forwards and smacked his opponent in the face with the butt of the gun. The man grabbed at his nose and staggered bag. Van almost fell, but kept hold of the shotgun and leant on a nearby pillar. As the man rolled around on the floor, Van slowly turned the shotgun round. The man looked up at him. Van pointed the weapon down at him. He waited, to see if his victim said anything, but the man instead scrabbled for what was probably a hidden gun. Van squeezed the trigger. At this range, even an injured, drunk, drugged up ex-detective firing one-handed couldn't miss. And Van didn't./p


	4. Chapter 4

They had cleaned up by the time Van's condition had been stabilised. The Inspector had gathered his ex-detective's various weapons, carefully extracted the spent shells, and generally made it less obvious that a rogue, ex-cop had shot a lot of people. Ford was standing beside Van's stretcher when he awoke from a fevered nightmare. He clutched at her hand, and then, slowly, realised where he was and what he was doing, and let go of it a little shamefacedly. The weapons were stashed back where they came from, in the boot of Van's car, and the Inspector bent over Van.

"What happened?" Van groaned.

"Cannibals. Bunker downstairs. Smells a lot." The Inspector nodded. Van lay back in the supports. He needed to get cleaned up too. He was not fit for a case, and this had been all too close. Van looked up at the two of them.

"If I ever have to do this again, make sure I'm damn sober first," he said. Ford didn't bat an eyelid. The Inspector snorted. Van sighed, deeply, and fell into an unsteady unconsciousness. It was almost relaxing, in the end.


End file.
